


Hum Hallelujah (Just Off the Key of Reason)

by purgatorymaybe



Series: Hum Hallelujah [1]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, SegsBenn if you squint, SidGeno if you squint real hard and tilt your head a little
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-02-29 02:01:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18768904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purgatorymaybe/pseuds/purgatorymaybe
Summary: “Evgeni Malkin,”“Zhenya, thank god,” Anton greets desperately. “You have to help me; I’m going out of my mind over this stupid fucking contract.”Zhenya’s quiet for a moment. “If this is about your stupid courtship with Sasha Radulov, I don’t any part of it.”





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [silkstocking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silkstocking/gifts).



Anton didn’t sign with Dallas because of Radulov, no matter what anyone says. Sure, Alex had texted, leading up to his contract deadline, and even called a few times, and yes, he had suggested that Anton come down to Dallas, because despite the lack of a real winter, he had a feeling that with more Russians on the team, they could make a real name out of the Stars.

And- He wasn’t jealous that Alex had apparently been also talking with Val Nichushkin. He wasn’t. It made sense, that Alex would want more than one person to talk with in his mother tongue, and even more sense when Anton remembered that Dallas was Val’s team first, even if it hadn’t worked out too well before.

But he wondered, at night, when he was laying in bed, waiting for sleep, if Alex talked the same with Val as he did with Anton. Probably just as frequently, if he really wanted both of them on the team with him. But Anton can’t have been imagining the weight of some of those texts, the way Alex’s voice would lilt, more than friendly teasing, heavier, and how, occasionally, Anton would get a pictures. Sometimes first thing in the morning, with Alex’s pre-coffee grumpy face and sleep-rumpled hair, and the hint of well-defined pectorals covered in thick curls; or post-workout, shirtless and covered in sweat, face flushed red and beaming. Always tagged with some variation of ‘have you signed with Dallas yet’, including one memorable photo, Alex clearly just out of the shower but not yet dried off, towel precariously low on his hips, smirking, captioned: ‘this is what you’re missing if you stay in Boston’.

If Nichushkin is getting the same treatment, Anton is going to scream.

And there’s no way to know, not for certain, not without either somehow getting Nichushkin’s phone number and awkwardly asking what kind of texts Alex was sending him, or awkwardly asking Alex what his texts with Nichushkin were like. So he does the one thing he can do, and texts the Bruins group chat.

>>what does it mean when someone keeps sending you pictures of themselves

The babies answer first.

~ Beantown Bros ~

<<[Pastrnak] means they want 2 fuuuuuuuck

<<[Donato] what kind of pictures

<<[Debrusk] can we see

<<[Debrusk] to help you out obvs

<<[Krejci] no naked women in the gc!!!!

Anton hesitates, his fingers hovering over the keypad.

>>it’s a guy

<<[Gionta] then ryan’s right it does depend on what kind of pictures

<<[Krejci] still no pictures!!

>>he’s shirtless in most of them

<<[Pastrnak] he wants 2 fuuuuck

<<[Cehlarik] is he hot tho

>> yes peter

>>hes hot

<<[Pastrnak] u want 2 fuuuuck

<<[Gionta] shut the fuck up pasta

<<[Gionta] have you sent any pictures back

>>not of myself

<<[Krejci] hes flirting with you dude

<<[Chara] are you being safe

<<[Chara] hes not some guy you met off tinder or whatever is he

<<[Donato] ITS TINDR AND U KNOW IT

<<[Bergeron] my wife kicked me out of bed this racket had better be worth it

<<[Cehlarik] dobbys trying to figure out if his tindr guys really into him

>>hes not from tindr fuck you

>>ive known him a while hes not going to out me or whatever

<<[Bergeron] Marchys gonna have a fucking field day goddammit

<<[Bergeron] how do you know him anton

<<[Bergeron] if hes from back home id recommend against it

<<[Gionta] don’t shit where you eat kid

>>hes not from back home

>>hes not from boston either

<<[Pastrnak] so hes either another hockey dude or hes a

<<[Pastrnak] whats the guy term for puck bunny

<<[Krejci] gdi David shut the fuck up

<<[Krejci] anton tell me you didn’t fuck a puck bunny

>>jesus Christ

>>were not fucking

>>it’s just the pictures

>>and im not telling you who it is

>>and hes not going to fuck up my career because his could get fucked up too

Anton exits the group chat and turns off its notifications. He can’t, however, ignore the private message from his captain, no matter how much he wants to.

<<[Chara] hes another hockey player isn’t he

<<[Chara] im not going to ask who he is or what team hes on but I need to know you’re being careful

<<[Chara] both of you

>>nothing’s happened

>>it’s just pictures and they’re nothing I don’t already get from the team sometimes

<<[Chara] okay

<<[Chara] I just don’t want this to turn into a big thing like it did with seguin

Anton slams his phone facedown on the table. _Seguin was a fucking kid_ , he thinks vehemently. He didn’t like how the media painted him back then, and he doesn’t like how the kid gets used as a cautionary tale to rookies now. His phone vibrates again. He almost refuses to check it out of spite, in case it’s from the team, but on the off chance it’s Alex-

A disgusting close-up of Alex’s nostrils lights up the screen and Anton can’t help his snort. He lets it ring out a few times before he accepts the call, to keep himself from feeling even more like a schoolgirl with a crush.

“Have you called to tempt me down to the devil’s asscrack again?”

 _“We’ve got Val,”_ Alex rushes out, breathing as if he’s finished a round of suicides. _“He hasn’t signed yet, but I talked to Bennie and Nill just to make sure and it’s happening, Anton, he’s going to sign.”_

“That’s great.” Anton says blankly. He’s happy for Alex, of course he is, but-

 _"I know!”_ Alex practically gushes. Anton’s throat is closing up, his eyes are starting to sting, and he should have known, dammit, of course he didn’t-

_Now you just need to sign, and then it’ll be perfect.”_

Anton blinks. “What.”

_"Seriously, are you going to sign with us, or has all my seducing been for nothing?”_

“Seducing?” Anton chokes out. “Excuse me?”

 _“Honestly, Antosha,”_ Alex says loftily, seemingly unaware of the emotional whiplash Anton’s going through. _“My heart is on the line, here.”_  

"Your _heart_.” Anton laughs helplessly, crazily. “What?”

 _"Dallas isn’t going to wait forever,”_ Alex says quietly, and Anton can’t help but translate that as ‘I won’t wait forever’. _“You need to make a decision.”_ Alex sighs, a burst of static against the receiver at Anton’s ear. _“And it needs to be soon.”_


	2. Chapter 2

Tampa eliminates Boston in the second round. Which. It’s not _fine_ , but. He can’t help but be relieved that it’s over, at least for the next five months. Getting eliminated early gives him a little more time to think about whether he really wants to sign with Dallas or if he’s only entertaining the thought because of his ridiculous crush on Alex. So he cleans out his locker, makes arrangements to have his car shipped over to Krasnoyarsk, books his plane ticket home, and when he finally has a moment to sit down, he calls back Jim Nill.

_“Jim Nill,”_

“Hello, sir.” Anton straightens up out of instinct. “This is Anton Khudobin.”

_“Anton,” Jim says warmly. “How are you? Besides the elimination, of course.”_

“Pretty good, I guess. Getting to go home for the summer.”

_“That’s good to hear.”_ Nill clears his throat. _“I’m assuming this isn’t a social call, though?”_

“No, sir.” Anton chews on his bottom lip. “I was thinking about your offer. To sign with Dallas.”

_“Ah,”_ Nill says neutrally. _“Have you decided yet? It’s fine if you haven’t,”_ he adds. _“There’s still some time before we need an answer.”_

“I think-“ Anton inhales sharply. “Just a little more time, please. I want to be sure before I give you a definite answer.”

_“Of course, Anton,”_ Nill says diplomatically. _“Is there anything else I can do for you, while we’re here?”_

A polite dismissal of “no thank you” is on the tip of Anton’s tongue, until he remembers the last time Alex talked to him, nearly a month ago. The quiet, resigned way he had said: _“Dallas isn’t going to wait forever”._ Anton can still hear Jim Nill’s quiet breaths into the phone, patiently waiting for an answer.

“Why- what made you consider me?”

Nill is quiet for a moment. _“You know we just got our starting goaltender, Bishop, last year. We’ve been watching your tape, the games you’ve been in net for, and we think you’d be a great fit with the team. And,”_ he continues, chuckling a little. _“To be honest, Alexander Radulov has been hounding our asses for a while to get you down here. He’s been really hyping you up to the other guys on the team, too.”_

Anton’s heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest and his face is so hot he wouldn’t be surprised if it’s actually on fire. “Yeah, he uh. He called a lot, the last few months. Seems like he really wants me down there.”

Nill laughs boisterously. _“Oh, he was absolutely thrilled when we told him we wanted you. He was basically bouncing around the whole facility, telling almost the entire staff about you.”_

“Well,” Anton coughs. “That’s something to think about.”

_“I hope you do think about it. That you won’t be completely starting over here in Dallas, and that there are people here who will have your back.”_

“Thank you, sir.”

_“No problem, Anton. I have to go now, but if you’d like, I can send you and your agent a contract to look over, see if it’s something you’d want to consider further.”_

“Thank you,” Anton says. “I’ll definitely read it over.”

_“I hope to hear back from you soon,”_ Nill says, then hangs up.

Anton turns the phone over in his hands, running his thumb along the long edge of the casing. 

He knows he should call his parents, let them know his flight details so they can start on getting the house ready for him. But he acts on impulse and calls Alex instead-

-and gets sent to voicemail. Okay.

“Hey, so.” Anton grimaces. “I talked to Jim Nill today. Thought you might like to know. I still haven’t signed, but. Well. I’ll keep you updated, okay?”

He ends the call and forwards his flight confirmation email to his mother. He resigns himself to a long two months; he has a _lot_ to think about.


	3. 3

“I don’t know what to do,” Anton whines. He’s been at his parents’ house for the last two weeks and he’s no closer to making a decision than he was when he got there.

Well. That’s not quite true.

He knows what he _wants_ to do, but it feels too much like he’s following Alex like a puppy that he’s refraining from making a decision on principle.

“You could stop whining, for one,” his mother says, ever patient. “You’re a grown man, Antosha. Use the brain that got you through six years of university.”

“I feel like a teenager,” Anton complains, setting the table.

“You’re acting like one, too,” his mother snaps. “Honestly, Antosha, you’re the one making it into a bigger deal than it is.”

“Think of it like this,” his father placates. “Take Alexander Radulov out of the equation. Would you be thinking of signing if he hadn’t been pestering you all spring?”

“He wasn’t _pestering_ me,” Anton mutters. Even if they’re still not talking, he should at least defend Alex a little.

His father raises an eyebrow. Anton sighs. “I’d at least consider their offer,” he says grudgingly. “It’s a good contract. The Stars are a good team- they have a good base,” he amends, at his mother’s scoff.

“The pay isn’t bad, either,” his father points out. “You’d be making more in Dallas than you are in Boston.”

“Is it cliché if I say I don’t care about the money?”

Anton’s mother sighs, patting his cheek. “No, dear boy, it just makes you sweet.”

“It doesn’t matter what we think, anyway,” his father shrugs. “We want what’s best for you, and we’ll give you our input, but in the end it’s your choice to make.” He holds Anton’s gaze as he swallows a forkful of food. “You need to think about what you really want, Anton.”

#

He doesn’t know what compels him to call Zhenya Malkin, but a week before he has to meet with management to talk over his contract, he finds himself jiggling his leg as he waits for the call to connect.

_“Evgeni Malkin,”_

“Zhenya, thank god,” Anton greets desperately. “You have to help me; I’m going out of my mind over this stupid fucking contract.”

Zhenya’s quiet for a moment. _“If this is about your stupid courtship with Sasha Radulov, I don’t any part of it.”_

“How the fuck did you know about Sasha?” Anton hisses. “Who told you?”

_“He’s been complaining to Nichushkin, who’s been complaining to Ovechkin, who’s been relaying every detail to me like the schoolgirl he is.”_

Anton groans, rubbing his hand across his forehead. “Does everyone know about this?”

Malkin is suspiciously silent. _“No,”_ he says. _“Just the Russians.”_ He goes quiet again, and Anton can hear him talking to someone. _“And Sid,”_ Malkin admits.

“Sid- _Crosby_ knows? What the fuck, Zhenya?”

_“He’s just been here!”_ Malkin says defensively. _“And I’m sorry, but it’s hilarious, okay?”_

“It’s _embarrassing_ ,” Anton bemoans. “I don’t want to sign with Dallas just because Radulov wants me to.”

_“What do you want me to tell you, Antosha? Don’t go to Dallas? Fuck Radulov and live out the rest of your life miserable and alone?”_

“Fuck you,” Anton snarls. “Don’t be so fucking _reasonable_ , goddammit.”

_“It’s the price of maturity,”_ Malkin sighs. _“Someday you’ll understand.”_

“We’re the same age, asshat,” Anton says dryly.

_“Ha! I said_ maturity _, not age.”_

“Fuck  off, Malkin. Why did I think you’d be any help, anyway, huh?”

  _“Obviously because you value the wisdom of your old alternate.”_ There’s rustling on Malkin’s end, as if he’s moving around. _“But seriously, now, what can I do to help?”_

“I don’t suppose you can suddenly read minds and let me know what Radulov is thinking,” Anton says weakly. “Because that would be incredibly helpful right now.”

_“Trust me,”_ Malkin says dryly. _“As much as the media believes Sid and I share a telepathic bond, that is very much not the case.”_

“I don’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.”

Malkin snorts. _“Neither does Sid. Oh,”_ he says, surprised. _“Here, he uh- he wants to talk to you.”_

“Crosby is _with you_? In _Russia_? Zhenya, what’s-“

_“Hello? Uh, Anton Khudobin?”_

Anton sits up straight. “Yes,” he says in English. “Hello.”

_“I know you’ve probably been getting a lot of advice on how to make this decision, and you probably don’t want more-“_

“Not really, no,” Anton admits.

Crosby laughs. _“That’s fair. But if I can say something, as someone who has made a lot of important decisions in his life?”_

“Couldn’t hurt, I suppose.”

_“Well, you wouldn’t be entertaining the Stars’ offer this much if you weren’t serious about something, right?”_

“You think you know what I want?”

The other line is quiet. _“I think_ you _know what it is, but either you don’t want to admit it, or you’re not sure if the risk is worth it.”_ Crosby takes a deep breath. _“And I know we don’t really know each other but trust me on this: the risk is definitely worth it.”_

#

He signs with Dallas. His mother films a clip of him signing his new contract that he posts to Instagram two days after his contract with Boston is up. Alex doesn’t call or leave a voicemail about how happy he is that Anton’s coming, how great the season’s going to be. He doesn’t even text. Which is fine! Great! Anton should be focusing more on his training, with the preseason a month and a half away. He doesn’t need Alex distracting him all the time now.

He does get a ‘welcome to the team’ text from his new captain:

>> Welcome to the team! We’re really excited to have you.

>> Got your number from Rads, hope that’s okay.

>> Radulov

Anton snorts. He’s not under the impression that Alex gave up his number easily; he might have been vocal about wanting Anton to come to Dallas, but they hadn’t been talking for months at this point. He doubts Alex even cared much when Nill and the PR team announced his signing.

<< how long did it take for him to cave and give it to you

<< might have been easier to just get it from Nill or the front office

>> I asked for it when Nill first told us you were going to sign, Jamie texts back.

>> that was two weeks ago

Anton nods his head a little, trying not to smile.

<< we haven’t spoken much since march. he may have hidden it on purpose to keep me from thinking he still cares

>> he definitely kept it from me on purpose but I don’t think he doesn’t care

>> he actually seemed pretty possessive of you

Anton groans and hides his face in his hands, even though he’s alone and there’s no one to see how red his face is turning. His phone _pings_ with a new text, and Anton is _this_ _close_ to telling his new captain to fuck off, but-

It’s not Benn.

It’s Alex. No words, just a thumbs up emoji, but it’s something. Enough to make Anton grin so wide the hinges of his jaw hurt.


	4. 4

Anton expects Benn, as the captain, to be the one meeting him at the airport. Anton doesn’t know whether it’s a good thing or not that it’s Alex at Baggage Claim, holding a hand-written sign in Cyrillic that reads: _Welcome to Satan’s Asscrack, Dipshit_. Anton gives a good laugh at the sign and his childish heart races at the small uptick of Alex’s mouth.

“People are going to take pictures, you know,” Anton says. “Then they’re going to translate your dumb sign and put it all over the internet and you’ll get an earful from PR about proper language.”

“Is this how you greet your friends now? No _hello, Sasha, how was your summer_? Did Boston knock all the manners from your bones? What would your mother say?”

“My mother,” Anton sniffs, deigning to ignore Alex’s smirk, “would smack your head if she saw the crude words you’ve written.”

Alex cocks an eyebrow. “Lucky for both of us, your mother decided not to endure the terrible heat just to see you through the preseason and make sure you got settled properly.”

“Lucky,” Anton repeats and turns to the luggage carousel just in time to see his equipment bag pass around and snatches it before it can make another turn around the belt. He can feel Alex’s eyes on him as he lifts the bag over his shoulder, and he may or may not flex show off a little while his back is turned, so Alex can’t see the smug grin Anton is sure he’s currently sporting. He makes sure to school his face so as not to give himself away when he turns back around, but Alex is glaring just to the side of Anton, the tips of his ears turning a ridiculous shade of pink.

“You’re looking a little sunburnt, Sasha,” Anton mentions casually. “Enjoying ‘Satan’s Asscrack’?”

Alex mutters something too quiet for Anton to pick up and tugs Anton’s carry-on out of his hands. “Let’s go,” he says loudly, startling a few other travelers around them. Anton grins helplessly at Alex’s back, taking a few longer strides to catch up and walk next to him.

“My flights were fine, thanks for asking,” Anton says brightly. “Even though I’ve spent the last twenty-five hours either on a plane or in an airport, and I’m fucking exhausted.” He nudges their shoulders together. “You’d better be taking me for dinner. I’m sick of airport dining.”

“I suppose I should be insulted you think I wouldn’t feed you.” Alex slips on a pair of sunglasses and grins toothily. “You’re lucky my mother raised me right; there’s fresh vareniki keeping warm at home.”

“ _Fresh_?”

Anton scowls. “Fine, they’re reheated from when my mother stocked my freezer before she left. Happy?”

“Now that I know I won’t have to worry about getting food poising? Yes, absolutely.”

“I can cook,” Alex grumbles, unlocking his car. “I can cook _well_ ,” he emphasizes, glaring when Anton snorts. “I _helped_ my mother with those vareniki, and you are going to _eat_ _them_.”

Anton sighs exaggeratedly. “If I _must_ ,” he says, and sets his gear bag in the trunk.

“If you eat any less than ten, I’m telling my mother you don’t like her cooking.”

“You are a cruel man,” Anton announces. “But I accept your terms.”

Alex starts the car and turns to give Anton a small but genuine smile that makes his eyes shine. “I’m really glad you came,” he says softly.

“Yeah,” Anton says, breathlessly. “Me too.”

* * *

 Anton expected to be put up somewhere until he found a place of his own. A hotel, Benn’s, Alex’s or Val’s, because of the shared language. He was- surprised, to say the least- when he’s given Seguin’s home address at the meeting with management after practice.

“You were teammates for a couple of years in Boston,” Nill shrugs. “At first, we thought maybe Radulov or Nichushkin, but Tyler offered, and he’s really growing into his role as an Alternate. We figured why not, you know?”

“Okay,” Anton says. He’s not sure what else _to_ say. “Sure.”

Jim Montgomery claps his hands together one. “Great! That’s all we had left for today. I’ll have some notes on practice today that I’ll hand over to Reese to work with you on tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” Anton repeats. “Great.”

Nill shakes his hand on the way out the door, smiling like he knows a great secret. “We’re going to do great things this year, Anton. I can feel it.”

“I, uh. I sure hope so, sir.” Anton nods goodbye to everyone else and forces himself to not get out of the room as fast as possible.

There are still a few stragglers in the locker room when Anton gets back, Seguin included. He gets a nod and a shoulder clap from Bishop, who’s on his way out, and Alex is nodding along seriously to whatever Benn is telling him, so Anton leaves them be and makes his way over to Seguin’s stall.

“Hey, man,” Seguin pockets his phone and beams up at Anton, the drier hairs already curling around his ears. “Heard management’s sticking you with me for a bit.”

“Said you offered,” Anton shrugs. He admits to himself that he likes the way Seguin’s face flushes. “It’s okay?”

“Yeah, man, it’s cool. You good with it? I know they were thinking of putting you with Rads, but uh,” Seguin bites his lip. “Thought you might appreciate a familiar face.”

Anton tracks Seguin’s body language, how he’s curling into himself slightly. “Think maybe you’re one who needs familiar,” he says, quiet so Benn and Alex won’t be able to hear. Seguin tenses up then relaxes once he sees that Anton isn’t making fun of him.

“Yeah,” he chuckles. “Maybe."

Anton hums and takes a step back when Benn sidles up next to them. Benn gives him a nod and mumbles some variation of ‘good job’ and turns his attention on Seguin.

“You good to go?” Benn mutters, staring intently at Seguin.

“Actually, uh.” Seguin waves his hand toward Anton. “I’m housing this guy, so I’m kind of his ride home.” Seguin smiles apologetically. “Probably best to put it off for a bit, until he’s all settled in, too.”

Benn blinks, looking over at Anton, and nods. “Sure, yeah, no problem. Just uh. Lemme know when, okay?”

Seguin doesn’t seem to stop smiling. “Yeah, totally, for sure. I’ll text you or whatever.”

“What,” Alex says, throwing an arm around Anton’s shoulders. “Am I not invited to special Captain lunches? You break my heart, Bennie.”

Benn rolls his eyes, punching Alex in the arm. “You’ve never been invited, Rads, it’s not gonna happen.”

“Yeah, man,” Seguin says. “You fuck with tradition, you pay the consequences.” He raises his eyebrows at Anton. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“Great!” Seguin jangles his car keys. “Let’s go, there’s this cool chicken recipe I’ve been working on, you have to try it.”

* * *

 

Seguin’s house is huge, and though the outside looks almost intimidating, the inside looks lived in, which is emphasized when a white dog runs up to him and Seguin, followed by two darker dogs.

“Babies!” Seguin yells, dropping his bags and kneeling down to let the white dog lick all over his face. “Hi, Gerry, did you miss me? Were you a good boy for your big brothers while daddy was at practice? I bet you were, I bet you were.”

The black dog sniffs at Anton’s hand and nudges it with his nose. Anton smiles, scratching his head. “Hello puppy,” Anton murmurs. “I’m going to stay here for a couple of weeks if that’s okay with you and your brothers.” The dog licks his hand, which he takes as a ‘yes’.

“Good dogs,” Anton tells Seguin.

“They’re the best doggies,” Seguin says, still baby talking. “Even when they do silly things like drink out of the toilet and eat off daddy’s plate without permission.” He kisses Gerry’s head and stands up, dusting off his pants. “Come on, man, let me show you where your room is, then we can get started on dinner.”

Dinner is cilantro-lime chicken thighs with avocado-tomato salsa and garlic mashed potatoes and it is _delicious_. Anton doesn’t feel back about tearing into the chicken as soon as he gets a taste because at least Seguin is as shameless as he is.

“I found this recipe online,” Seguin says, once he’s inhaled a mountain of potatoes. “On, like, a meal planning app, and I kinda fucked it up the first time I made it but looked so good in the pictures that I had to keep trying, you know?”

“Glad you not give up,” Anton says, pulling a fourth thigh from the dish. “So good.”

“Thanks.” Seguin wipes hands off and sits up straight. “So, there’s actually something I wanted to talk to you about.” He smiles wryly. “Figured it might be easier to do if I fed you first.”

Seguin gives him time to finish chewing and swallowing before he speaks again. “It’s about Rads. And you. And your relationship.”

Anton tries to keep his face clear. “What relationship?”

Seguin scrunches his face up. “That’s what I want to talk about, I guess. What your relationship _is_.”

“We’re friends,” Anton says slowly.

“I know, but.” Seguin purses his lips. “I know I’ve only known Rads a year, but he’s my linemate, and we’re friends, and we tell each other stuff, you know?” Seguin looks at him like Anton should know what he’s talking about.

“Okay?”

Seguin looks frustrated. “Being subtle isn’t working, Jamie,” he mutters at his plate, before looking across the table at Anton, determined. “Rads likes you romantically,” he says bluntly. “And I want to know, _as his friend_ ,” Seguin stresses, “if you feel the same way.”

“I’m not going to tell anyone,” he says quickly. “Except Jamie, because he’s Rads’ friend too, and he’s the captain, so it’s his job to like, know this kind of stuff is going on, okay?”

“Okay,” Anton says blankly. He’s a little reassured that Seguin won’t tell anyone, but he was supposed to have time to figure it out for himself. This was supposed to be between himself and Alex, not between himself, Alex, Seguin, and Benn. “I like him.”

Seguin nods but doesn’t seem to be satisfied with his answer.

“Fine,” Anton says irritably. “I return his,” he waves hind around. “ _Feelings_. Okay?”

Seguin narrows his eyes, stares at Anton for a few seconds, and nods decisively. “Yeah, okay.” He picks up his fork. “Now come on, we gotta pack in all these calories and I can’t eat everything by myself.”

* * *

 

Living with Seguin is fine, for the most part. He has the rest of the team over a lot during the preseason, citing ‘team bonding’, but Anton suspects it’s mostly to show off his dogs.

Seguin hasn’t brought up Alex or their _shared feelings_ again, but he must have told Benn, because he’s been watching every time Alex comes up to him during practice, or at times like this, during Seguin’s end-of-preseason house party, where he’s gotten drunk and is saying tearful goodbyes to the guys who won’t be staying up for the regular season. Anton’s content to stay in the background, and shakes his head when Alex tries to get him to come dance in the living room.

“Are you always this boring,” Alex teases, leaning against the wall. “Or do you just not like dancing?”

“I like dancing fine,” Anton rolls his eyes. “Just not whatever this music is.”

Alex nods in agreement, looking out at the room in disappointment. “I keep trying to tell them the Russian music is best, but they refuse to listen.”

“Maybe it’s just your taste in music that’s shit, then,” Anton says lightly. “Because none of my old teammates had a problem with my music.”

Alex wrinkles his nose. “Whatever,” he mutters. “How has the apartment search been, anyway? You never let me tag along.”

“I send you pictures!” Anton laughs. “Do you really need to approve of the place before I can move in?”

“What kind of friend would I be if I let you move into a shitty apartment, hm?”

“You don’t _let me_ do anything,” Anton says primly. “I can do whatever I want.”

Alex’s eyes darken. “Whatever you want, hm?”

“That’s what I said.”

Alex turns his torso towards Anton. “But what about what _I_ want?”

“Well,” Anton swallows. “I suppose it depends.”

“And if what I want is to kiss you?”

Anton’s breath hitches and he wants to hate the way Alex smirks. “Then I think we should not be here, where everyone can see.”

“What if I want everyone to see,” Alex whispers in Anton’s ear. “What if I want everyone to know you belong to me.”

Anton groans, pushing Alex towards the stairs. “If you have any shred of decency, you will _wait_ until we are _alone_.”

“I have waited for  _months_. I have _been_ patient.” Alex shoves Anton against the banister. “I am through with waiting,” he growls, and kisses him.

Anton should be grateful he at least waited until they were in the stairwell, out of sight, so no one can see how Anton practically melts under Alex’s mouth. And that the music is loud enough to cover whatever noise he makes when Alex grabs his ass and _grinds_.

“My room,” Anton gasps. “ _Now_ , Sasha.” He has to push Alex away to detach him from his neck, and nearly loses his resolve when he sees how dark Alex’s pupils are and how red and swollen his lips are. _‘I did that’_ , he thinks, dazed.

“I’m going to take you apart,” Alex breathes. “I’m going to _ruin_ you.”

Anton doesn’t say that they’re going to ruin each other.

That he’s already ruined him for anyone else.

But he does kiss Alex again, and hopes to god he understands.

 


End file.
